Glamis
by jones2000
Summary: AU. Sixth story in the 'Cursed' series. The Winchesters go international as the father of a friend contacts them with a job. What case could be so big that it takes them out of America? And will they live to regret it?
1. Scotland

_On the last episode of Supernatural: Cursed. _

"Are you saying I can't remember who I am because I don't _want _to remember?"

"John!"

"You let it take her! You let the other one get away!"

"If we didn't have bad luck, we wouldn't have any at all."

"Don't you remember me, Dean? It's Agent Hendrickson. Agent Victor Hendrickson."

"Every grave robbery, desecration, vandalism. Every suspicious death. They're gonna pull them all apart. Sooner or later they'll be lead right back to us."

"You want us to got to _Scotland_?!"

* * *

_Three months later:_

Ten years ago, Sally Wandell had sworn to herself that she would never come back to this life. That this chapter of her existence was well and truly over.

And then her father was murdered.

What choice did she have after that? She got three months off to go back home and attend his funeral and to deal with the conflict inside her. Little did her friends know that the tough little commando was not the least shaken by this unforseen turn of events. She had always known that something would take Steve down.

But now she was angry.

There was little she could do to salvage the microchips in Dad's security system, but Steve was not just a pretty face. During the summer when she was seventeen, Sally had helped Steve rig it up. The surveillance cameras were connected to the computer, true, but Dad's paranoia had insisted he load the cameras with videotape just in case the computer failed.

_You can never trust technology, _he always said.

So true. Several years later, he was dead, and the camera tape that the intruder had overlooked lead Sally straight to Sam Winchester.

And so she did what her father always told her to do. She put the word around to find out about this Sam.

All she got in return were angry stares and furious whispers. _'You stay away from the Winchesters, Miss Wandel. Bad news, that whole family. I knew the dad a long time ago. They say he's dead but I wouldn't put it past the old bastard to still be going somehow.' _

_'Those boys of his are the epitome of crazy. Don't get in the way, or they'll go right through you. Don't worry about your old dad. We'll get the bastard that did it.' _

And Sally knew without a doubt who did it. But for some reason she stayed silent. Perhaps she didn't trust these men. Or perhaps she was waiting for them to add two and two and get five.

Maybe she wanted to bring the Winchesters down herself.

Unfortunately, when her leave came around once more, both of them were assumed dead, and Sally could get no one to attest to the opposite. Either they really were dead, or those boys had a massive support network.

And then suddenly just as she was about to give up, both of them showed, in a shower of major demonic activity. It was too much for Sally to ask for. Her leave had swung around, they were alive, and the small nugget of revenge that she had thought she buried deep inside her began burning harder and fiercer than ever.

_How could they walk around with their heads held high? How could they respect themselves considering the lives they had torn apart? For what they told themselves was the right thing to do?_

There was no black and white. There never had been.

And so Sally was back in the slums where she had grown up. Devoid of her military greens, she was nonetheless still in a uniform of sorts, albeit a uniform of denim and leather. Her pistol was safely secured in her shoulder holster and her knife was resting against her skin, strapped firmly against the small of her back.

One could never be too safety conscious.

There was a man before her leaning dangerously far over the bridge railing. For a moment it looked like he might throw himself off, but as she walked forward, he stepped back smartly from the edge.

A moment of recognition flashed between them.

"So you're the bounty hunter. How did you manage to get out of jail?"

"So you heard about that."

"My father sent me packages each month. He kept me up to speed on things."

"I'm sorry about Steve."

"No you're not." Sally said. "The last time he saw you he was going to rip your head off and mount it on his wall. How did you get out of jail?"

A shrug. "Naming names."

"And signing on to inform for Victor Hendrickson, apparently. Or was it a perk to finally work with someone that made you look sane by comparison?"

"You should talk. Something's suckered you back in to the game, too."

"Yes. The same thing that's got you." She paused. "The Winchesters."

"Am I that transparent?"

"Only a lot. Gossip runs fast, and the brothers set you up."

"Revenge." He said.

"Revenge." She agreed. "Ever since I found out who took down Dad…"

"It was always there, gnawing at the corner of your mind. The one that got away."

"Yes."

"They'd been lying low for a while, but I picked up the scent again when they got real active around the first last month."

"But-?"

"About a week ago, it went cold. Like they'd disappeared off the face of the planet. No-one knows anything."

"Maybe they just got the hell out of Dodge."

She watched as the penny dropped. "There's no way they could have made it out of America without one of my boys knowing."

"I'm not talking about skipping across to Canada to dodge the draft." She said sharply. "I've seen every possible way of getting illegally out of a country."

"There's no way. Hendrickson-"

"Is a very clever man, undoubtedly. But he can't monitor everything."

"Even private flights take weeks of preparation-"

"And who's to say they haven't been planning their great escape for weeks?"

The pair of them were silent for a minute. "What do we tell _him_?"

_Hendrickson._

"The truth." Sally said. "That the trail here has gone cold. And that I believe I have the contacts required to find them again."

"You're a piece of work, Wandell."

"Why, thank you, Gordy."

Sally walked back to her car, aware that Gordon Walker was watching her every step.

He had sold out, but was what he doing really any different to what she was going to do?

* * *

Sam decided within half an hour of being on the liner that he hated sea travel. 

It was not that the food was bad or the staff rude or the beds hard, or even that Dean was unusually chipper as he watched the mainland shrink into the distance along with his beloved Impala…

It was the seasickness.

Yes, Sam Winchester found out the hard way that he got seasick. And didn't Big Brother love that.

"What I don't get is, you're in and out of water all the time. Then there's the vehicles, the planes, the buses, bumped around, up and down, back and forth, side to side, faster and faster…"

His stomach clenched uncomfortably. "I hate you."

Dean grinned through his peppered steak. Another not-so-subtle poke at his brother, since Sam had trouble keeping down half a sandwich. "We _could _have taken a plane, and we'd probably even be there by now, but _nooo_."

"Hey, I'm just phobic. At least _I_ don't spend _all night _puking into a bucket."

"It was the closest thing!" Sam shot back. "_Someone _was in the bathroom at the time!"

"Hey, it's the first proper wash I've had since… for a long time. And I'm still breaking in these jeans." He plucked at the black denim. True to form, there were recent rips in both knees. "Come on, Sammy. It's like a prepaid holiday."

"Only there's a big, fat, nasty surprise we've got to deal with waiting inside."

Dean pondered for a moment. "Sort of like eating a hotdog." He said pensively. "A nice, gooey hotdog with extra chunky mustard and long, thick, sloppy strands of onion…"

He chuckled to himself slyly as Sam bolted. "Dean, Dean. You are so cruel." He popped another chip into his mouth, pushing the vegetables discretely to the side of his plate. His eyes strayed to the brochures scattered across the floor. _Scotland, Land of the Brave. Shires of Scotland. Scottish Ghost Tours. _

_Okay, we're going to Angus, Scotland. Home of the most haunted castle in Scotland, with no transport and no clue to what the Scots want. _

_I wonder if anyone on the other side knows we're coming? _

* * *

Alistair Crow grew up obsessed with ghosts, which was to be expected living in a place where seeing spooks and believing in them were the norm. With the castles and the history, how could there not be? Wales, too, had its share of spectres, though they tended to be more bloodthirsty. 

Ireland's spooks were like Ireland's people, a bit odd but relatively peaceful. And England…

They probably had their share of the bastards, but being English, they weren't about to admit it. Though Alistair had to admit that he was a bit biased. He'd never met an Englishman he liked.

So God only knew what playing chaperone to a couple of Americans was going to be like.

He stood on the dock, waiting, along with several dozen other people. Americans. Loud and obnoxious. He had very little patience for Americans, even less than he had for Englishmen. But he had promised his friend, had taken his friend's word for it.

_Trust me, these boys are the ones you're after._

Alistair Crow was a butler. He had worked for the one family for several years, and it was one of the most efficient ways he had ever discovered to gain his information. He was a butler, and he was good at it.

He was also good at _other _things.

His old man used to call it 'tickling the beasties'. Which was a fair enough description in itself. His niece used to think of it as something out of _Buffy, the Vampire Slayer_ until the lass went out on a hunt when she turned eighteen. Come back refusing to say anything to anyone and put herself through school to become a nurse. Two years later, she joined a convent.

_Trust me, these boys are the ones you're after._

Alistair stared up through his dark glasses as the ship pulled in. "All Americans look th' same." He muttered. _Trust me. _His eyes combed the people coming out onto the wharf. _Trust me. _Then he caught something out of the corner of his eye.

Two men, clutching their baggage, casually coming down from the ship. Maybe it was the way they walked, the confident swagger. Maybe it was the way they stood, straight and proud like they'd never slouched in their lives.

Maybe it was because no one had come out to greet them. All the small details, adding up to the one big fact. Alistair pushed forward through the sea of people to greet them. _You only have to be nice to them until they do what they're here to do. _

_If I weren't so old, I'd try it myself._

"Yer th' Winchesters?"

The taller brother seemed slightly intimidated by the appearance of the bearded, grizzled old man. "How did you-?"

"Lucky guess." Alistair said. He held out his hand. "Alistair Crow."

The shorter man cautiously shook the offered hand. Alistair's thick, brown fingers wrapped around his smaller, paler hand. "Dean. Dean Winchester." He looked as if he hadn't introduced himself using his real name for some time. "This is my brother, Sam."

Weak grip. Check. Absurdly grating accents. Check.

"I'll be yer driver this evenin'." He said. You'd have to be an idiot _not_ to sense the sarcasm. "If y' come this way."

Out of all the Scottish people gathered here on the English dock, this Alistair seemed much easier to understand. The majority seemed to be a boisterous people, but this man with his thick, silver streaked beard seemed a bit more subdued.

The brothers exchanged looks. Without waiting to see if they would follow him, Alistair started to walk away back to his 4WD, which was shockingly out of place among the cobbles and thatched cottages. _If they don't follow in five minutes, they can walk to the border. _

_Americans. _

The trio were silent, seemingly not knowing what to say to one another. Sam did not dare to say anything to his brother in the presence of this brooding man, though he could tell by the crease in Dean's brow that something about this picture wasn't sitting right with him.

Finally Dean cleared his throat. "So." He paused.

"So." The Scotsman echoed.

"You work for Raphael Rosalini?"

The big man gave a bark of laughter as he turned the key in the ignition. "Me? Work fer Raph? Yeh mus' be jokin'. I could pick the little runt up wit' one hand. No, there's a problem tha' needs sortin', and someone tipped Raph off tha' you lads might be able t' handle it."

"Really?" Sam asked, uneasy. "Why can't you-?"

"In case yeh haven't noticed, I'm not exactly a young man anymore."

"So. Are you a-?"

"God, no. I'm a butler. And ye'd do well t' remember tha'."

"Maybe you can fill us in, then." Sam said. His stomach was finally beginning to feel a little more settled now he was on solid ground. "Raphael Rosalini wasn't very clear with the… specifics of the case."

"There's good ole Raph for ye. Always suspicious of everythin'. Suppose he didn' want t' give ye too much info in case ye never made it."

That struck a cord with the boys. They glanced at each other, shocked. "He told us he was sure he could get us out safely!" Dean objected. "You mean we could have-"

"There was always a chance ye could get caught first. Raph is a magician with pushin' papers and pullin' strings, but he can't predict who'll be where an' when. Ye missed the FBI by three minutes, accordin' to my weasel."

"Weasel?" Sam asked curiously.

_"No one told us that!" _Dean snapped. "He never told us the FBI was on that dock!"

"So, he f'got to mention a couple a' things. Get over it."

Sam found himself grinning. Yes, he didn't like the idea of coming here that much at first, empting his stomach each day into the toilet, and he found that all the green made his eyes play tricks on him, but yes.

He actually might grow to like it here.


	2. Imprints

During the drive, Dean eventually nodded off. It was so good to go to sleep without hearing Sam barfing in the background.

And so he dreamt.

He could see a girl with long, auburn hair standing with her back to him. She was clutching a stout staff in her hands. She could have only been thirteen at the most.

She was crying.

She went through her exercises anyway. "Sweep, sweep, arms out, step back, wrists fixed, dodge, lunge…" Her freckled nose was wrinkled in concentration as she trained. _The hunter of the generation. _

Eventually her training chant became something else. "My fault, my fault. I should have been faster, should have been quicker. Why can't I ever do anything right? I should have had _him._" And even though it was only a dream, Dean's heart went out to her._ I know. _

_Gabby. _

Dean blinked awake. Sam was staring at him and Alistair glancing up at him through the rear-view mirror. Both of them were looking slightly amused.

"I dinno abou' yer country, but in mine it ain't tha' good t' 'ave one of th' hunt tha' talks in his sleep."

"He doesn't normally." Sam said. "He got hit on the head a while back and hasn't been quite the same since." Dean gave him the evil eye. "He went all weird and couldn't remember anything."

"Ah, the stereotyped amnesia case. Well, if one will insist on gettin' thumped on th' noggin, one's brains are gonna end up rattlin'."

"You said her name again."

"Again?" That came as a surprise. "Whoa, stop looking at me like that. We were friends. That's it."

"Good." Alistair said. "'Cause if it's the Gabby I think it might be, y' better keep it in yer trousers, 'fore her Daddy finds y'."

Dean's eyes narrowed as Sam and Alistair laughed. "Mock me if you will, at least I dream about women that are _still alive_."

That wiped the smile from Sam's face. "You-"

"Boys, if yer goin' t' barney, at least get out of m' car first." Alistair said briskly, opening his door. "Come on, then!"

The town of Angus was the sort of thing that you got on those traditional Christmas cards. Or, as Sam put it-

"It's like that place from _Midsomer Murders_." At Dean's slightly raised eyebrow, he elaborated. "I like British crime shows."

"Whatever."

Alistair opened the back of the 4WD and began tossing their bags to the pavement. "Move it, Americans. I don' want t' be stuck 'ere all day on m' day off."

"You really _are _a butler, then?"

"Kinda. Sort of. I work up at t' Castle."

"What?" Sam said, but Dean knew the answer straight away.

"Glamis Castle." He said. "Yeah, I was thinking of checking it out while I'm here." He gave Sam a look. "Don't tell me you haven't heard of Glamis Castle? The most haunted castle in Scotland."

His little brother gave him a strange look. "You've done your homework."

"I like to apply myself to the case."

"Since when?"

"Yeah, we've got our spooks. Prob'ly from bein' such an old place." Alistair interrupted. "Ev'ry so often me an' th' boys get together, compare notes. Who's got what and where."

"Cool." Sam said. "I'd like to see your records some time."

"Don' see why not." Alistair said. Shouldering the two massive weapons bags, he strode across the street and through the front door of a small tavern, the vacancy sign swinging in the breeze. Dean glanced up.

"_The Drunken Unicorn. _Huh."

The inside was warm and cheery. It was like stepping into an old movie, only the accents were real. There was a man sitting in the corner bellowing bawdy songs, and a busty woman serving behind the bar. It was almost too good to be true.

"No warm beer here." Alistair said. "An' ye couldn't get friendlier folk anywhere. 'Specially if ye get 'em drunk. Jus' watch out for English Ned in th' corner there." He led the way through the press of bodies.

"Al!" The pretty barmaid was upon them, smiling at Alistair.

"Molly, m'dear." Alistair bent his great, shaggy head to kiss her cheek. "This is Molly McGregor. Owner of the _Drunken Unicorn_."

"Don' ask." Molly said. "M' grampa named th' joint."

"Really?" Dean said. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Mm. Said he saw a unicorn galopin' in th' wood, though m' brother always thought he found hisself a nice patch o' magic mushrooms instead."

Dean grinned. Well, some things had to be universal.

"An' y' must be our American friends?"

"'Tis them, t' be sure."

There was no flash of understanding to come over Molly McGregor's face, so Sam could only assume that only a few select people had been told who they were and why they were there.

"I made up th' rooms like Mister Ros wanted." She said, walking behind the bar and pulling a key off the pegboard near the whisky cabinet. "Down th' right at th' end."

"Ta, Moll."

* * *

Dean had another dream that night. Which was unusual for him, 'cause, you know, Sam was the one who was supposed to pick up all this extra sensory crap. His little brother was like some sort of freak magnet. The strays were always following him home.

Though at the moment the Force seemed to be in Dean.

He remembered having a vision before, years back before Sam died that time. It was like being repeatedly hit over the head with something big and heavy. This was what his dream was like; only it wasn't what was going to happen in the future, or even what was happening now.

It was the past.

_There was a man striding up and down a great hall. There was a huge sword in his hand and a trickle of blood running down his face. As he turned to the light, Dean could see the claw marks deeply imbedded into his skin._

_"Come and get me, then." He shouted. He had an accent, but it definitely wasn't Scottish. Welsh, maybe? "Come and get me."_

_The highlands of Scotland could be seen out the window the man passed._

_"Dantalion, come and face me! No more of these games!"_

_"Hunter. Gatherer of the undead and scatterer of their bones." The hiss was almost too low to hear. "Will you send me back to Hell? Will you burn so I can burn? Show me how it's done."_

Dean snapped awake. "Okay. I'm just not gonna sleep anymore." He sat up, and for the life of him, it felt like he had been running down a long stone corridor flanked by suits of armour. He was exhausted.

_Dantalion. _

While the name was still fresh in his mind, he got out of bed and flicked on Sam's computer.

"Wha're y' doin'?" Sam asked sleepily.

"Research." Dean replied. He was the first to admit that he wasn't the best with all this technogeeky stuff, but he did know how to enter a word in a search engine. _I hope I spelt it right. Or I'll spend hours looking for the right dude._

Dean clicked into Wikipedia. Sometimes they had good stuff without really realising it. His eyes narrowed as he read.

"Well. Looks like its time we milked ole Alistair for information."

* * *

Sam and Dean were having breakfast of cold cereal when Dean asked an unusual question.

And to say it was unusual by a Winchester's standard meant it was pretty damn weird.

"Did you, er, have any dreams last night?" He tried for casual but didn't quite get there.

"Dreams or dream-dreams?" Sam asked cautiously, waiting for his brother to launch into another attack.

Dean, however, looked awkward, and waved his hand in a seesawing motion. "Ah, just wonderin', out of curiosity and all, whether you've picked up any creepy air from being here yet, yuppie boy."

"No." Sam said. "Nothing unusual. Why?"

"Nothin'."

"Really, what's up?"

Dean frowned. "Laugh, and I'll drop-kick your skinny arse. Okay, since we got here I…" His voice petered away.

"Yeah?"

"I dunno. I guess I've been picking up these weird vibes. It's driving me nuts."

Sam ignored the opportunity to have a go at his brother, since whatever these 'vibes' were obviously had Dean spooked. "What have you been seeing?"

"It's like the dream I had with Gabby. She was still a kid and she was blaming herself for letting somethin' get away." Dean shrugged. "Then we walked past those cliffs and I coulda sworn a woman in tartan threw herself off. And last night I had a dream…"

Sam gathered that by his pained expression that it wasn't a usual Deanish dream. But his brother had listened for hours about his dreams, the least he could do was return the favour.

"There was this kid, not much younger than us. He was in some sort of big house or castle thing, with this big, honkin' sword. He was telling something to come out and get him."

Now this _was _unusual. It was understandable that Dean might dream about a friend he'd made, and he could have even possibly saw a woman throw herself off the cliffs. But through years of experience, Sam knew that a real vision most likely featured people he had never seen in his life.

And Sam understood Dean's worry.

"You're not having visions." He said firmly.

Dean let out his breath in a whoosh. "Thank God. Man, it's good to hear you say that."

"-I think you might be picking up psychic imprints."

"Say what?" He looked like he'd been slapped.

"Imprints. A moment in a person's life that was so particularly emotional and raw that it was subconsciously recorded at that time, at that place, and plays back to those that happen to be sensitive."

"I'm not sensitive-"

"Tell me about it." Sam said dryly. "But, dude, you're gonna be perceptive to different things then me. Gabrielle, for example. You said she was blaming herself for letting something get away. There's your link between you and her. You were always punishing yourself for doing something wrong when there was nothing you could have done anyway."

"So since I've got messed-up vibes, I'm picking up on her messed-up vibes too? Jesus, Sam. That's just-"

"Messed up? You wanted an explanation. That's the only thing I can think of." Sam poured himself some juice. "And there's something else, yeah?" He predicted.

"A name." Dean said. "Every time. A name."

"Yeah?"

"Dantalion."

The name had no familiar ring to it, but something occurred to Sam then. "That's what you were doing last night. Jeez, I thought I must have been dreaming."

"Nah. Thought I'd look the guy up. Find out why he's turning up in my dreams."

"And?"

There was no doubt about it; his brother was starting to look uncomfortable. He pushed aside his food, pondering his answer.

"He's a demon."

"Say what?"

"The dude's a demon. I'm not kidding. Apparently he was one of the seventy something demons Solomon banished with the Lesser Key. Well, depending on which book you go by." It struck Dean as unusual that it normally wasn't him that had the information. "He's supposed to be some sort of demonic professor in Arts and Sciences."

Sam didn't say anything. One eyebrow rose sceptically.

* * *

The present Earl and his lady had opened Glamis Castle to the public, and tourists swarmed through the gates each open day. For some it was the architecture and history that interested them. 

But for most it was the lure of the ghosts.

"You know, they used to brick enemies up it the walls and starve them to death." Dean said brightly as he and Sam joined the end of the column.

"Cheery." Sam said. "Dean, problem at hand."

"God, you're a dreary bastard. Put yourself into the moment."

"You weren't so eager when you thought this morning you were having visions." Sam hissed.

"And if you dare mention my one moment of weakness ever again, I'll break your legs." His brother replied archly. "Oh, look. There he is."

Alistair Crow stood head and shoulders over most of the tourists, giving a pained grimace that was supposed to be a friendly, welcoming smile. Despite the chill in the air, he was standing tall in his tartan kilt.

Englishmen chattered in their falsetto, prissy accents, an Australian spoke to his companion in a too loud, commanding tone, and there were even one or two fellow Americans among the crowd. Sam and Dean steered away from those people.

"Evening, squire." Dean said upon approaching Alistair as the last of the guests were ushered through. "What's worn under the kilt?"

"_Dean_." Sam said warningly.

"Lads." Alistair greeted. He seemed friendly enough, but there was an edge of steel to his tone. "If y' excuse me, I havta work."

"That's cool. We can walk and talk." Dean said. "Right, Al, old buddy? I mean, we all hang out in the same club, the _Dantalion,, _huh?"

Alistair gave an odd expression then, half exasperation, half satisfied. "Rodney." He shouted back over his shoulder. "I'm takin' five."


	3. Slayer

Alistair led the two of them to a cordoned-off area of the castle. Unlike the rest of the place, the small room he ushered them into didn't look like it was lost in the 18th century somewhere. There was a computer set up on a collapsible table and a cold mug of coffee leaving rings on a steel bench.

Alistair headed to the small fridge. "Anything t' drink?"

"Isn't it a bit early?"

"Not in this job." The Scot took a swig from the bottle he withdrew, ignoring the tray of glasses. "'Specially on th' night shift."

"Night shifts are bad?"

"I got old believin' tha' phantoms deserved roastin'. Now here I am thirty years later, practically rubbin' shoulders with 'em and not able to touch th' damn bastards." He reached into the pouch around his waist and withdrew a cigarette.

"Could be worse. Could be sittin' in a cell somewhere countin' the days until they put me down." He cast a guilty look at the 'no smoking' sign before tucking the cigarette away again.

"You can't kill the ghosts?" Sam asked.

"I can but I can't." Alistair said. " This is Glamis Castle. No one would admit it, but th' biggest draw is th' ghosts. And if any of 'em turned nasty…"

"You were in the right place." Dean said.

"This job, y' don't just get out of it, even when you're old." The Scotsman said. "Y' can't, after y' know what's out there."

Sam gave a reluctant nod.

"I was gonna tell y' 'bout th' job once y' settled in more." Alistair said. "So y' wouldn' stick out quite so painfully. How'd y' know?"

"Strange things have happened here." Sam said. "Strange and terrible enough to scar. To leave an imprint."

"Impressive." Alistair nodded, his face betraying nothing. "Raph mentioned y' were psychic."

"Actually." Dean cleared his throat. "I'm the one doing the whole John Edwards bit at the moment."

Alistair cast a look between the two of them. "Fascinatin'." He said. "Y' often alternate psychic abilities?"

_Now there's a different way to put it. _

"Um, yeah. Our best guess is I'm somehow unconsciously picking up guys with the same level of screwed up as me." Dean glanced back at Sam.

His brother gave his half-grin. "Hey, don't look at me. This is more or less your case."

"Okay. Yeah. Um, all these… imprints, they seemed to be tied to someone called Dantalion. Who could only be a demon considering who has left behind the… imprints."

"Heh. Well, you Americans cottoned on faster than th' last demon slayer."

"Demon. Slayer." Sam said slowly.

"The last… demon… slayer. Was it… around the nineties some time? Mousy kid, might have stayed in the Drunken Unicorn."

The Scotsman was quiet for a moment. "Robson Connelly." He said finally. "It's no' easy for me, mine bein' th' last face they see 'fore it gets 'em. By rights it should be me, 'cause I'm here all th' time."

"You send others away to be killed by this… Dantalion?" Sam exclaimed in horror. "That's just-"

"Listen-"

"Dean, it's time to walk away."

But some sort of macabre interest held him to the spot, wanting to find out all he could about this demon. _Demon slayer. I like that. _

"Y' think it's only our kind y' have a reputation with?"

"What?"

"What?" 

Subconsciously Sam knew what the man was doing. He was playing on the obsessive streak that both brothers had inherited from their father. And it had the desired effect.

"What reputation?"

"You killed a demon. Th' bad o' the bad. And then y' forced another back where it came from. Y' did good for our side, but there are others that ain't so happy. Now yer both back on the radar, you'll have all sorts of nasties out fer your blood."

Alistair had about a minute before both boys left the shire of Angus far behind them, so he had to use what time he had left to convince them. But then, that's what he did best.

"There's only a handful tha' faced down a fully-fledged demon and lived to tell th' tale. Robson was the last of my generation to take on a demon and live, but he still died anyway. This thing in my castle, it learns from each hunter it goes up against. And like it or not, you two are the next in the food chain. If ye walk away now, we work back through the chain right up to that cute little nine-year-old orphan that lost her parents to Azazael."

The idea of a nameless, faceless child being forced to confront a demon horrified Dean more than it once would have. "How could you live with yourself if you made a kid do something like that?"

"You want to survive, you keep your morals in check." Alistair said in an ugly voice. "The way of the world." He cast a look back to the door. "This is war. And in war people die. Mothers and fathers and children. We are th' only things standin' between this world and the never ending darkness. Don't y' see? We are the soldiers. And th' demons are learnin' all th' time." He stopped and suddenly looked immensely old.

"Y' can run away or y' can fight. Not both."

* * *

"It started when King Solomon first really used th' Lesser Key. From then on he had a bit of a reputation as a witch."

"A witch?"

"In the old days if y' cast out a demon, y' would have been attributed with magical powers."

"Really." Sam had seen some amazing things in the years before being reunited with his brother. He had seen things that had absolutely no reasonable explanation. He had met men and women and demons that could do some astounding things. And, of course, there had been Stanford's Professor Devlin, who never came out and said it, but he strongly suspected was some sort of supernatural entity.

To him witches tended to be associated with evil, and the idea of the sparkling creation of _Harry Potter _was ludicrous. If he ever met a real, human witch, he doubted he would ever believe it.

Yes, he had seen and done some remarkable things. But Sam Winchester still had trouble believing in magic.

"These demons were plaguing Solomon's lands, so Solomon and his most powerful magi banished them."

"Banished to where?"

"Let me finish. There were a heap of 'em, seventy-two or sixty-eight, dependin' on which publication y' work by, each attributed with a different sin. Y' know, wilting crops, disease, the death of the first born…"

"Frogs and locusts." Dean put in.

Alistair almost smiled then. He looked around the thinning bar of the Drunken Unicorn and took a sip from his ale mug. The capacity this man had for holding his alcohol without getting drunk was amazing.

"They ranged through from servants t' the East King of Hell hisself. I don't know how many years Solomon and his magi must have spent looking fer them, but y' can take a guess."

"Christ. It took Dad twenty-two years to find one." Then something funny occurred to Dean and he smiled. "Solomon was a hunter. Of sorts."

"Yer followin' in some famous footsteps, boys." The Scotsman said. "Dantalion, he's a professor. In Arts and Sciences. Myth says he can manipulate men's minds. All we can think of is tha' over the years, th' exorcism weakened and finally wasn't there anymore."

"You mean exorcisms just _wear off_?"

"I don't get it." Sam said. "If he had all these legions working for him, and had all this power, why did he decide he wanted to live here? In _Scotland_?"

Alistair frowned. "Fer your sake I'll ignore your implications." He said.

"Sammy, not even demons like living in Hell." Dean said. "If they're powerful enough they can shape the land around them and force others to obey them, but it's still Hell. Some demons run away. Some stay and fight it out. And others go completely mad." Both his brother and the Scot glanced at him, surprised at this insight.

"A mad demon. What a fun concept." Sam said dryly.

"Anyway." Alistair interrupted. "You heard th' story of th' Monster in th' Castle?"

"No." Both brothers said at once.

"It's said tha' one of the first Earls had a deformed firstborn son. T' avoid anyone else dicoverin' this shame, they kept him locked up and only took him out at night. When he died, th' rooms were sealed up, but it's said tha' the malformed Earl still walks the corridors."

Despite the fact that both the Winchesters were in their thirties, there was always something about a good ghost story that suckered them right in.

"Th' Earl became th' Monster, or th' Monster became th' Earl, it's hard t' tell since there are about half a dozen different versions of the story. One writer who passed through here a few years back actually alluded the Monster to a demon. Still no clue who gave her the idea. There's supposedly ways t' see whether th' Earl is still wanderin' around, but I thought it was all a bunch of superstition."

"Yeah?"

"Then abou' twenty years ago, things started happenin'. Suddenly someone was tripping all these Monster-findin' devices, leavin' no trace behind."

"Twenty years." Dean said. He glanced at his brother. "Gabby would have been what? Thirteen?"

"Don't twist your arm patting yourself on the back." Sam retorted.

"I'm thinkin' tha' the demon might have heard about all this myth, the Monster, the Earl, maybe even tha' damn book, and has decided to take up residence. It's in the castle, hidin' among th' ghosts. I can feel 'im, each day I go t' work. He knows who I am, and knows I can't do anythin' about 'im."

"Yeah, well. He's at the end of the road now." Dean said harshly.

"Dean, are you nuts?" Sam exclaimed. He turned back to Alistair. "How many civilians has it killed?"

"Over twenty years? One hundred and five."

"How many hunters have gone in?"

A longer pause. "Thirty seven."

"How many have come out?"

For a moment it looked like Alistair wouldn't answer. "Two." He said finally.

"This is suicide." Sam said. "We can't do this. You can't expect us to do this."

"What other choice is there?" Dean argued. "This Dantalion, he's one of the big guns of the demon world. Take him out and we'll have put a professor-sized hole in their hierarchy."

"And what about his soldiers?"

"Are you chickening out? We've taken them down before."

"You have." Sam said quietly, and Dean blinked. _You were the one that shot the Yellow-eyed Demon. You killed his son and exorcised his daughter. You were the one that forced his wife back to Hell. _

"Sam, what if Dantalion makes a run for it? Ends up somewhere else? Somewhere we can't get to it? Solomon imprisoned the bastard only God knows when, with only the Key. The least we can do is send it back to Hell, even if it is only temporary."

Sam hated it when his brother started to put together a logical argument. He hated it even more when he was right. "But-"

"Lads, it's more serious than y' think." Alistair cut in again. "I'm all for your bravado, but Dantalion isn't th' end of it."

"Huh?"

"Think, boy. There were all those demons imprisoned. If one is out…"

_Then all of them are. _


	4. Games

It was late that night, and the streets were wet from that afternoon's rain. However the sky was so clear you could count the stars. _You can't say that about home. _Dean thought. Then _where is home anyway? _

Home is where you hang your coat.

"Are y' sure abou' this?" Alistair asked as the brothers swiftly deactivated the security system.

"You talked us into this." Sam said. "Don't pretend you're giving us the opportunity to back out."

"What can I say? Th' lad's smarter then he looks." Alistair remarked. "Give a shout if y' need help. I'll monitor the cameras."

If Glamis Castle was archaic and slightly creepy in the daylight, now the place was downright frightening. A creature could be lurking behind any piece of furniture, and although the castle ghosts never showed before, you could almost see them creeping up behind you.

The trio headed to the security control room, Alistair leading the way. A bitter taste was in Sam's mouth as the Scotsman picked the lock. _I wonder if you've done this for those twenty years? I wonder if you're the one who lead those thirty-five people to their deaths? How does that make you feel when they're dead and you're not? _

But there was the small thought at the back of his mind. _You know exactly what that feels like. _

Alistair pointed to the screens. "I'll watch y' from here. Trust me, _don't split up_."

"Not going to happen." There was a bulge under Dean's jacket and he was holding a leather-bound book in his hand. Sam could tell by the slight twinkle in his eye that he was exited, but at the same time terrified.

_It never gets any easier. _

"See you on the other side, Al."

"You too, lad. Oh, and try not t' make too much of a mess."

Dean grinned. Sam just looked sour. Sam followed his brother out, closing the door behind them. "Alright." He said. "I presume you have a plan."

"You presume correctly, poin dexter." Dean said, flipping something out of his pocket. It was a tour map of the castle. "Now, this Dantalion guy is pretending to be the deformed Earl, and by default the Monster of Glamis."

"Right."

"So I'm thinking that we start with these corridors here." He pointed. "'Cause these are the ones closest to the rooms where the Earl was kept."

"Wow. That actually makes logical sense. I'm surprised at you."

"Bitch. Okay, we have until the staff start turning up in the morning. Let's take this sucker down."

Sneaking around the deserted castle was like something out of Scooby Doo. "Y'know, I heard a rumour that in certain rooms, the stones bleed."

"You've been watching too much TV."

"You know we'd cover more ground if we split up?"

"But-"

"I guess if you're chicken…"

"Fine, I'll go this way." Dean said sharply. "You go that way. But don't touch anything."

"Yes, Dad."

In hindsight both Winchesters should have known that splitting up was only asking for trouble.

* * *

Sam stepped over the thick, red ropes that cordoned off areas of the castle from the public and walked down the dusty hallway, his sneakers bringing up small clouds of dust with each step. It may have been his idea to split up, but now he could honestly say he was beginning to regret it.

"Damn Dean, damn Scotland, damn job." He muttered. Being angry with his brother and the job took his mind off his other immediate thought.

_What if I find it? _

The rain was starting up again. Sam could see it cascading past the windows. For some reason it made him feel even more miserable. _Give me a bone-dry dust bowl anytime. _

In the intervening years before he had caught up with Dean once more, Sam had been busy. He had hunted vampires in Nashville, killed a gargoyle in Montana, and had ridded a casino of the ghost of a high roller still hoping to make a packet. But in all the things he'd done, places he'd been, this was the first time he'd ever had to sort out the stereotypical haunted castle.

Oh, and did he mention he wasn't allowed to hurt the ghosts? Both brothers had been brought up with the strict policy of _if it's dead but still walking, get rid of it. _But Alistair, who was more or less the same age Dad would have been if he was still alive had a different motto.

_If they're not hurtin', chasin' or deliberately scarin' folk, leave 'em be. Makes your job a whole lot easier._

Working the same job in two very different styles. Still not sure which one he preferred. And for not the first time, Sam wished he could go back. Not really to a place, but a time. A time when there wasn't pain, or fear, or loneliness.

_Remember how easily that illusion was shattered._

There were footsteps ahead of him and a door banged somewhere in the tower overhead. Suddenly, sobbing reached his ears, sobbing that was somehow above him and ahead of him and outside the window.

Narrowing his eyes, Sam bounded up the spiral staircase, careful not to slip on the chipped stone. _You're definitely in the restricted area now. _He opened the door of the tower room.

The first thing he noticed were the bars in the window. Then he saw the girl.

She had her back to him, and her pale hands were clutching the bars. Her long, fair hair fell lankly down her back and her dress fell in tatters around her bare feet. The narrow shoulders were shaking with each sob.

"Hello." Sam said cautiously. _I guess the ghosts of Glamis Castle weren't a whole lot of crap, then. _"Could you… I was wondering whether you could help me." _Okay, that numbers in the most stupid things you've ever asked a supernatural entity. _"I'm looking for some… thing." _Real specific. _

She just continued to cry.

"Can you hear me?" Sam asked curiously. "Hey-"

He made a mistake he should never have made then. He automatically reached out for her shoulder, as one would do to a person that was still alive. And she turned to face him.

"Holy crap!" He stumbled back.

Her face was a mass of gashes, long and deep and welling with dark blood. Her mouth was red and Sam surmised that her tongue was gone too. She looked into her eyes and opened her mouth in a silent scream, pulling and pointing at her scarred face.

Sam did what any other person would have done. He fled, slamming the door behind him.

_Don't hurt the ghosts. Don't hurt the ghosts my ass! _He lent against the wall, catching his breath. And he realised something.

They were claw marks. From something big.

"Oh, Dantalion. How long have you been here, really?"

* * *

Dean was not faring much better. He searched a ballroom and the feasting hall before crawling into a small passageway for the servants.

_Poor bloody servants._

Pushing aside a dusty tapestry, he emerged into a grand hallway, laid with red carpet and lined with weapons display cases. He stopped to admire a double-bladed axe.

"I will not steal." He automatically repeated the mantra the school counsellor had forced him to memorise when he was caught taking sweets from the swimming students' bags when they were all in the pool. He was six.

After his father had finished laughing, he had said that Dean should know better. If you were going to steal, don't get caught.

_God, we were screwed up. Jeez, what am I saying? We are screwed up._

He was halfway down the hallway when a familiar sound reached his ears.

Someone was rolling dice.

Dean had never been fond of the game of dice, _perse_, because the game was left more up to chance, and therefore harder to be fixed. Not that he was _completely _adverse against playing it, mind you…

He approached the sound. Gradually he became aware of someone swearing at the top of his lungs, in a thick brogue. Resting his hand against the door, he swung it inwards.

Nothing seemed out of place at first, and there was nothing out of the ordinary. Except the bellowing of swear words which was so loud the person mind have been standing beside him. Dean narrowed his eyes. Squinting, he thought he could see shapes forming.

A black, hooded thing had it's back to him, bending over another quivering shadow. Dean cocked the salt-laden pistol. Maybe Alistair didn't want them to hurt the ghosts, but there was no way he was going to walk in there naked.

"How's it going, dude?" He said. _Be fair, what else do you say?_

It ignored him. He cocked his head to the side and noticed that it appeared to be whispering.

_Y__ou made the deal with the Devil, you can't go back now, your choice and yours alone, you said you would play the game, so PLAY THE GAME._

Dean froze. The smaller shape broke away from the cloaked creature. It was a man in a kilt, with wild hair and beard. It didn't seem to be able to see the other ghost.

_"Another has come t' th' game." _He said. _"Will you challenge me?" _

He was holding a pair of dice in front of him like some sort of shield. _"Th' stakes are high in th' game. P'haps this one has th' soul t' free th' Earl." _

Meanwhile the other ghost was still whispering.

_Play the game for all eternity, you lost all but the Devil is yet to collect his dues, you play the game for him, each who crosses your path you must best with the Dice, for only then will you be released if you play the game. _

_"DO YOU CHALLENGE ME?" _

"Ah, no." He fired his round into the ghost.

It passed through it and splattered against the stone wall on the other side. There was a hole the size of Dean's fist in its stomach, but it didn't seem to be harmed. If anything, now it was angry.

_"__Fool." _It hissed. _"Y' think I don't know who y' are? I saw ye th moment y' stepped onto m' land. Y' made th' deal with the Devil, now y' must play th' game." _

_How did a ghost know that…? _"Buddy, I appreciate the offer, but I really have to head off." Dean backed away. _Never take your eyes off your opponent. _

The tall, black figure was still whispering. _Must play the game, all play the game, all are born playing the game, all die playing the game. Dead, dead, dead, you killed them all with your own hands, everyone plays the game, good and bad, no difference in the end. _

"Look, jerk, could you just shut up?" Dean snapped at it. _Another first. _"I've got to think."

_"PLAY THE GAME!" _

"Oh, fuck this." And he stepped back, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Sam jogged down the corridor, peering into each door he passed. Time was running out, and they had to find the demon and defeat it by daybreak. But if the demon was as good as it was supposed to be, then there was no way that it was going to let them find it.

He was halfway across another, smaller ballroom when his skull began to prickle. Ignoring it at much as he could, he struggled to the other end of the room. His breathing was heavy as he sank to his knees.

_Just lie down and die. No one will miss you. No one will even remember you. _

Sam shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. Glancing into one of the mirrors set at intervals along the walls, he thought he caught a glimpse of something moving.

_No one wants you. No one will even care. _

Squinting, he realised that the thoughts were not his at all. He had experienced similar things before, mainly with the Yellow-eyed Demon. Someone was putting them there.

"Dean would. He would care." He growled. It would not break him. "Show yourself, Dantalion!"

The figure crept closer to him in the mirror, but when Sam glanced behind him, no one was there, and he couldn't feel anyone there. In the mirror it cocked its head to the side.

_Y__ou believe that? You really believe Dean is the saint you always thought he was? You and your daddy made him the screwed up ass he is today, and don't you think that there's a small bit of hate in him for that? _

_You killed him, you sent him to Hell, and even he knows he's better off without you. _

"No…"

_You're a murderer, Sam Winchester. You murdered your own brother. _

"No…!"

Sam stared into the glass, and the creature came closer. He couldn't see a face, but he could see the eyes. Especially when they glowed a pale, icy blue. Almost white. Faster than he expected, the demon's arm flashed out, claws curling around his skull.

"You played the game. You made a deal with the Devil and it's time for Him to take his due."

Sam didn't even get to scream as he fell into the pit.

* * *

Dean shook his head to try and calm his jittered nerves. It didn't work. "Sam?" He called out. "Sam!"

There was a noise and he tensed, preparing to strike. And then his brother walked casually around the corner.

"Jesus, Sam. Are you trying to give me a heart attack… again?"

"No." Sam shook his head dazedly. "Sorry. I've been seeing things, and I'm still kind of out of it."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Dean said. "Spot anything out of the usual?"

Sam just gave him a look.

"I think it knows we're here." Dean continued. "He's throwing these ghosts in our way to slow us down."

"I suppose. We've run into people before who were able to control spirits. Normally through some necromantic charm, though."

"Which means that this demon knows what he's doing." Dean finished grimly. "Time to go, I think." He glanced at his watch. "The first of the staff should be turning up soon."

He kept his little brother in his sights as the duo walked back to Alistair's security room. There was something strange going on, he could sense it. Sam was acting a bit more awkward than usual, and it was beginning to worry him.

Abruptly Dean was reminded of when Sam was being possessed by the Meg-demon, how he would stand like he wasn't quite used to being in his own skin, talking like he wasn't quite used to his own voice.

Time for a little test.

"Christo." Dean whispered.

Sam faltered midstep. And he grinned.

"Finally he's clever."

"Dantalion." Dean hissed. "The possession charm-"

Sam's eyes sparkled a deadly, icy blue. "You really think that something like that works on something like me?"

_Now where have I heard that before? _"Get out of him." There was barely restrained anger in his voice.

"Or what? You'll kick my ass?" He laughed, and it was Sam's laugh mixed with something darker, crueller. "But Sammy's such a special boy. With such special talents. Pity he refuses to use them."

Dean's finger tightened on the trigger. "Get out." He growled. On the floor below a door opened and he could hear female voices.

_Crap._

Dantalion spread Sam's arms wide. "Shoot and hurt your brother. My, what a dilemma. Can't kill him and no time to exorcise him. You wanted the demon, here I am."

There were footsteps climbing the stairs.

"You lost." Dantalion said. "But you have my commiserations. You played well."

He cocked his head to the side and Dean was sent flying back down the corridor, smashing his head against the wall.

The last thing he saw before his vision went red, then black, was Sam, his little brother, walking through a wall.


	5. Bethlam

**A/N: **As some readers may have spotted, the last chapters of this story were not very well written or put together. These replacement chapters take the story in a different direction, and I hope that they fit together better than the previous.

* * *

_Two weeks later_

_Bethlam Royal Hospital_

_South London_

He woke up. His head hurt and he raised a hand to his forehead and rubbed at his eyes. There was white all around him. Nothing but white. The ceiling was white, the walls were white and the floor was white.

He closed his eyes and opened them again. It was all still there, the white, the little grilled window in the door, and the mellow lighting. All still there.

The door opened. No faces, only white.

"Good morning, Samuel." Perky voice. Made his head hurt all over again. "Time for your medicine."

Words. Making no sense. Just sounds strung together. His eyes were heavy; he just wanted everyone to go away and leave him alone.

"Go 'way." He mumbled. God, was that his voice? He'd forgotten what he sounded like.

"I will in a minute." Female. Was it female? "Just a little pinprick." Her hand was on his arm, and then he was gone again.

He dreamed. Saw things.

Didn't care.

People died.

He didn't blink.

They cried out for someone, anyone.

He ignored them.

Why didn't they stop? Why didn't the voices just stop? Go scream at someone else.

Peace.

He wanted it to stop.

* * *

Emily Killarney was a good girl from Edinburgh. As a student she studied psychology and mental health and became a licensed counsellor. At twenty-seven she managed to gain a transfer out of Scotland to a more prestigious hospital in England. Bethlam Royal Hospital. Though most people knew it by its unpopular nickname.

Bedlam.

She was thirty when she was assigned to a new patient. The one that had the other doctors talking. The one that the other patients would stare at when he passed them in the corridors. Samuel Winchester.

Age unknown. Place of residence unknown. Family unknown. The only reason they had his name was because of the identification in his wallet. The wallet Emily had been allowed to examine when she joined the team. There had been three different identifications inside. The one for Samuel Winchester was the only one they'd gotten a positive reaction on when they tested him.

It may have not been his real name at all. Emily would not have been surprised. But having a patient that reacted to outside stimuli was something. The first time she met him face to face he seemed like quite a pleasant person. He had said hello, asked how her day had been, how many others she'd seen before him.

It was almost hard to believe he was insane.

And then the talk of demons began; at night when he was shut away with whatever broken images were in his mind. He was hunting and being hunted, hurt, lost confused. They were coming for him, and would tear him apart. He called for people in the darkness, screamed for them.

Mom, Dad, Dean, Jess, Sarah, Madison, Jo, and many others. All those people, but when you asked him about it the next day, his eyes were blank. He didn't even realise what he was doing.

The doctors pressed him for answers, wanting to turn him into Bethlam's prize patient, perhaps even redefining what it meant to be insane. There was talk of writing papers, making Samuel an example.

An example of what was never really explained to her. They pressed him, and pressed him.

Until one day he finally lashed out.

It took four guards to subdue him. One doctor was unconscious and the other was cringing away as far from the other man as possible. Samuel got in more good shots than anyone would have expected, and so they began to sedate him.

But he never attacked Emily. No matter what mood, or what time.

Once he had asked her to sit with him for a while. Always a danger with female doctor/male patient, but she had begun to trust him, something she had never done by a rukle with any of her other patients. So she did, waving a signal to the guard on the door.

He didn't say anything for a long while, just sat with his chin on his knees. He could have actually been quite good-looking once, underneath all that facial hair, but the doctors never trusted a patient with a razor.

"You're not from here." His talking voice was different from his screaming voice, calm and warm and welcoming.

Emily patted her bouncy orange curls. "Is it that obvious?"

"Scottish?"

"From Edinburgh."

"What's your name?"

"Doctor Killarney." She said. "Emily."

"Hi, Emily. I'm Sam."

"I know."

"I know you know." He lent in, eyes wide. "But you don't really. Not at all."

"Why don't you tell me?" But Emily wasn't so sure he heard her.

"Tell me I'm crazy." He whispered. "I'd rather be crazy than it being true."

"What being true?"

"The demons." He began to rock back and forth. "All the creatures in the night, out for blood. I see things, so many terrible things. The screaming in my head, it never stops. It only gets louder. Tell me I'm crazy. Please."

He looked so distraught that Emily automatically reached forward to touch his shoulder. But as soon as her fingers made contact with his flesh, he flinched away. She had seen the scars when he was brought in, so she retreated, holding up her hands so he could see them.

Something awful had happened to this man, which had driven him into the world of darkness and demons and eternal suffering.

He looked so scared, but Emily could see her supervisor signalling her to continue. "Samuel." He gazed up at her with big, dark, haunted eyes that would have been enchanting in any other time. Before the asylum.

"Tell me."

"What?"

"Tell me about yourself."

"Why?"

"Because I'm interested."

"In what?"

"Tell me about your family. Your friends."

Samuel frowned. "Mom and Dad… they're dead."

Emily was silent. "My brother looked after me. He practically raised me. I don't know where he went."

"That's good. What was your brother's name?"

"His name is Dean."

"Dean Winchester?"

"Yes."

Emily glanced down at the clipboard in her hands, making a small note. "Do you want to tell me… who's Jess? And Madison?"

For a moment he looked like he was going to clam up again. "They died." He spat. "Died because I couldn't save them." He turned his face to the wall. "I don't want to answer anymore questions."

"Okay." Emily stood. "Enough for now. I'll see you later."

Her supervisor called her into his office. There were three other doctors in the room, plus another man in a dark suit and a woman dressed in army greens. Emily nodded and smiled at each of her superiors.

"This is Doctor Killarney." Doctor Smith introduced. "She is the one I was telling you about. The only one that can safely approach Winchester when he isn't sedated. Emily, this is Special Agent Victor Hendrickson and Captain Sally Wandell of the United States army."

Agent Hendrickson offered her his hand while Captain Wandell nodded curtly. "Nice to meet you." Emily said politely.

"Doctor Killarney." Hendrickson nodded.

"Agent Hendrickson and the Captain are here on behalf of the FBI."

"The Federal Bureau of Intelligence? In America?" She blinked. "But-"

"We're here concerning a patient of yours." The captain said. "And negotiate transport back to the States."

"And might I say what an unusual patient he is. We have scores of Jesuses, space men, and Wild West cowboys, but this man is quite lucid. Apart from the fact that he has created the delusion that he is solely responsible for hunting down evil."

"Which patient?" Emily asked with a sinking feeling.

"Sam Winchester." Captain Wandell said.

"Why are you asking me?" Emily asked. "Doctor Smith is my immediate superior-"

"Doctor Killarney." Agent Hendrickson interrupted. "We want you to come with us."

"Excuse me?"

"From what we have been briefed on, you are the only person that can safely approach Winchester without fear of retribution." He said solemnly.

"Me? You want me to go to America? With you?"

"And Sam." The captain said. "To hold his hand, in a manner of speaking."

_To protect you from him? _Emily almost asked. _Or to protect him from you?_

"But first." Agent Hendrickson said. "We will need you to hand over all documentation and material relevant to the Winchester case. Then we can organise your transport. Preferably ASAP."

"But-"

"Doctor Killarney, believe me when I say that this man is dangerous."

"Forgive me, Agent Hendrickson. But I can't bring myself to accept that."

"Even after that unprovoked attack on two of your superiors last week?"

Emily looked him in the eye. "If you have been informed about that scuffle-" Hendrickson snorted. "Then you have also listened to the recordings, where my patient stated in English that if the doctors continued with that line of questioning, he may become violent. He gave them due warning. It is hardly his fault that they failed to heed his warning."

Agent Hendrickson flashed her a grin, showing way too many teeth. It set her on edge; since it was the smile many patiens wore before they unexpectedly lashed out. "Doctor Killarney." He said. "Emily. I think I'd like to take you out to lunch."


	6. Demons

The Dog was down the street one block from the hospital, and that was where Hendrickson took her for lunch. Doctor Smith had cleared the rest of her schedule for the day. When Emily had asked why, he had cast a look at the agent and the captain and said _I have a hunch you wont be back for the next shift._

The Dog was hardly a far cry from the typical English pub. When Emily was a kid, the place had been called the Black Dog, but when the current owner bought the place from Trevor Hooley who couldn't get out of the building fast enough, he'd had it legally changed to the Mad Dog.

Note the fantastic leap of logic.

Either way, the Dog, whatever you wanted to call it, was a favourite to barflies, would-be karaoke stars, and, around world cup season, legions of soccer hoons. In short it was hardly the place a good girl was normally going to visit, even though you couldn't get a nicer bloke than Black Jack, the publican.

Emily would have liked to have worn her grey, all-business power suit, but earlier that day one of the other patients had vomited all over her and one of the interns during break, so she ended up turning up for their alfresco meeting in sneakers and tracksuit pants.

Captain Wandell cast her a look but didn't say anything. Emily wondered whether she slept in her khakis.

"Emily." Hendrickson gave her a smile that on anyone else would have looked quite pleasant, but on him just managed to look unsettling.

"Doctor Killarney." She said, sitting down. "While we are talking business, I'd like to keep it strictly professional."

"You think of all your cases as business?" An eyebrow rose and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk.

"Don't you?"

He nodded in satisfaction. "Yes." He said. "I think you and I will get on just fine."

Emily's expression didn't flicker. "Agent Hendrickson." She said. "This exchange of information works both ways. If I make accessible to you all my notes and resources, I, and my superiors, expect the same from you."

The smile didn't fade, but I certainly became colder. "You are extremely presumptuous." He remarked.

"So are you." Emily shot back. "Should you have gone through the official channels and have him extradited to the US, you would have sidestepped all these hassles and might even be on the flight home right now." _Unless there wasn't enough evidence for an extradition._

"Ah, you _aren't _here officially."

He blinked at her as if he was surprised she had put it together in one afternoon, but Emily had spent years listening to and memorising the insane yet complex delusions of many of Bethlam's patients, so she was used to quickly spotting patterns in people's behaviour.

"Doctor Killarney." This time it was the Captain that spoke. Her voice was low and husky and rough, as though all the femininity had dropped out of it. "Winchester is potentially lethal and should not be trusted. And no offence, but you're an _idiot _if you believe otherwise."

"No." Emily disagreed. "Samuel is mixed up, certainly. Potentially lethal? All of us are _potentially _something. Does that mean we all deserved to be locked up for what we _might _do?"

Captain Wandell lent forward. Emily could see the flecks of grey in her brown eyes. "My father is dead. I only found out through a friend of a friend. Care to take a guess why?"

"No." Emily said, a sinking feeling in her gut.

"Sam Winchester killed him. Murdered him in cold blood. In his own _house_. I advise not trying to defend him in front of me." Hendrickson had turned to her. His expression clearly said _you didn't tell me that._

"It's admirable of you to try and support your… patients." It was easy to see that she was only inches away from saying 'lunatics'. "But you have very little idea what he's capable of."

"If that's true," Emily retorted. "Why not just take Samuel and leave? Why even bother with me?"

"Believe it or not, Doctor Killarney," The captain said. "We need you. You are the only person beside his brother that Winchester has reacted favourably to."

"You want a minder. So he doesn't attack you or slit his wrists when you leave him alone."

"Do we have your cooperation, Doctor?"

What could she do? Did she turn her back and leave him in the charge of these two… whatever they were? Or did she go?

To protect Sam.

* * *

It was night. All the lights were off, so it had to be. He closed his eyes.

The woman down the hall was crying. Screaming out against the monsters in the night. The sounds she made cut through his head like a knife, even though everyone didn't hear, or pretended not to.

They were all so _loud_. Screaming and sobbing and shrieking and cursing. He wanted to hit out, to get the doctors to shut them up, but then he would remember.

Only he could hear them. Well. Him. And the others.

The ones that would stare at him wide-eyed as he passed. The ones that would begin to mumble phrases of long-lost languages when he looked at them. The ones that knew.

There was power here, power that would never be realised. Power that warped and corrupted and tainted until there was nothing left but a shell, howling like a wolf. They were coming.

The door opened. There was the shadow of the orderly before a smaller, lither figure slipped in.

"Doctor Killarney." He said. "Emily."

"Samuel." She said. The night guard scowled behind her and she waved him off. "I need to talk to you."

"Sure."

She sat on her haunches as the door closed behind her. "We're going away on a little trip."

"I haven't been five for a long time, you know."

Emily smiled, and sat down in a more comfortable position on the floor. "Hadta be sure what mood you were in." Anxiousness peeled off the English veneer in her voice and brought out her native accent.

"Ah." He said. "When?"

"Tomorrow evening. We'll be flying."

"They were anticipating you saying yes."

"I believe so."

"Who?"

"A man named Victor Hendrickson." She said. "And an army captain. From America."

Sam had been half-expecting to hear Hendrickson's name, but it did come as a surprise to hear he had a female army officer with him. Not much of a surprise, as the drug-of-the-week had cut the edge off most of his immediate sensations and emotions.

"Who?"

"Wandell. Captain Sally Wandell."

She watched as he closed his eyes. Lent back, unmoving. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine." He said. "Everything's fine."

* * *

A new doctor came to collect him the next evening. He had a wide, friendly grin and looked so familiar for some reason Sam couldn't really place. He guided him down to another small, secure room to wait for Emily and the officer that would be sent to chaperone them.

Coming, they were coming.

"How you been, Sam?" The doctor asked.

"About the same." He replied. Something in the other man's tone was driving him crazy. "I'm sure you can go now."

"Sorry, kid. Have to wait until the good Doctor is here."

And it wasn't long before Doctor Killarney arrived, looking flustered and bothered. "Who are you?" She snapped at the other doctor.

"Doctor Steinhardt." He answered, offering her his hand. "Robbie Steinhardt."

"Isn't that the lead vocalist from _Kansas_?"

"Erm, yes. Yes it is."

"Sorry." Emily reached out to shake his hand. "I had a friend once called Marty McFly. Drove him half-mad."

Doctor Steinhardt smiled. "That's fine. You can take it from her, Doctor Killarney, or do you need-?"

"No, I'll be fine, thank you." They both watched him walk away. Well, saunter.

"Have you seen him before?"

"Must be new."

"A newbie? Do people really wake up in the morning and say, 'hey, I want to work with crazy guys'?"

She cast a look at him. "Are you always this talkative at ten o'clock at night?"

"I suppose I'm nervous. I remember… I know what they want me for."

"Is that so?" Interest peaked; Emily pulled out a chair and sat opposite him. His wrists had been bound together, so he wasn't likely to attack. "Care to let me in on the big secret, then?"

Samuel didn't say anything, simply looked suspicious. "This time there are no voice recorders or video cameras." The doctor said. "There's only you and me. What you tell me in confidence can't be used against you. It's time to tell someone. Who are you?"

He looked up at her with those hollow, bewitching eyes, begging her to listen, to not pass judgement.

"I _am _Sam Winchester." He started. "I was born May 2, 1983, second son to John and Mary Winchester. My brother _is _called Dean. And when I was six months old my mother died. She burned up on the ceiling of my bedroom. Murdered. By a demon."

Emily opened her mouth to argue. To point out that logically these beasts did not exist. But she stopped.

"My dad, he… he became obsessed with catching the thing that killed her. He took me and my brother on the road, and we practically raised ourselves. Dad trained us. He trained us to hunt down evil and kill it."

"You mean, like… mass murderers and rapists?"

He gave a short bark of laughter. "Hell, we run into one of those and it's a slow week. I'm talking about _real _evil. Demons and every other sick son of a bitch out there. Vampires, werewolves, demonic possessions, strange deaths and crop failures. You name it, we've seen it. This probably sounds completely insane to you."

"Actually." Emily paused for a moment, surprised by the first thought to come to her head. She wondered whether she should repeat it aloud. "Actually, it explains quite a lot."

"Excuse me?"

Emily blushed. "My grandmother was as Catholic as they could get. But I suppose if you believe in angels, God's messengers, then there's going to be a nemesis. An antichrist." She shook her head. "Damn, listen to me. I sound like-"

"One of us?" He offered.

"I wasn't going to say that." Emily said sternly.

"You're Catholic?"

"What? Did you expect all Catholics to be Bible-bashing, '_death-to-the-witches' _types?"

"I hardly expected a pro-demon type."

"A joke. There's hope for you yet."

"Now you're just having a laugh. I'll just drop it."

"No." She said. "I'm not making fun of you. Tell me more. Tell me about Hendrickson and Wandell. Tell me about your brother."

"Dean always protected me." His voice broke. "I couldn't protect him."

"What happened?"

"I think… I think I killed him."

Emily stopped, mouth open. "What? No, that can't- you're not-"

"You don't think I'm capable of it?" He smiled sadly. "I'm a hunter. Hunt equals kill, no matter how you coat it. I _am _a murderer."

Emily's heart was beating fast in her chest. She couldn't bring herself to believe… but it explained so much… Never buy into a patient's delusion, her supervisors had always warned her. Now it had happened. She had finally snapped.

"Samuel, the only evil that exists in this world is men and the things men do."

"No. It's _real _and it's _dangerous_."

"I don't believe you."

"Of course you don't." She door opened and in came two figures in their long white coats. "You get paid not to believe him. To believe any of them."

"Doctor Osborne." Emily said. "Doctor Lyons. What are you-?" And then she saw their eyes. Black. Completely black. Doctor Lyons smiled.

"All that talking." She said. "Time for some screaming."


	7. Showdown

"What the hell _are _you?"

"Get out of the way, little girl." Doctor Osborne swatted Emily aside, with no more effort than if she were a bug. Her nose began to bleed freely as she hit the wall and sank down to the floor, in shock. Doctor Lyons rubbed her hands together, sizing up Samuel.

"Surely you knew we would find you."

Samuel backed away, pulling at the plastic strip that bound his wrists. His look was a mixture of scared and angry.

"Time to say goodbye and die, freak." Doctor Osborne sneered, raising his hand.

"If you insist." A single shot was fired, echoing in the small room. Emily watched in horror as he crumpled, bleeding. Emily looked around herself wildly, not believing that she could feel any more shock.

"Doctor STEINHARDT?!" Perhaps she was wrong.

"'Evening, Doc." Lyons lunged for him. He sidestepped and rapped her sharply on the head with the butt of his shotgun.

"What the HELL?!"

Robbie Steinhardt grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet. "They won't stay down for long. Get out of here!"

"You just SHOT my SUPERIORS with a GUN! Like HELL I'm going to do what you say! What's going on?"

On the floor, Osborne's hand began to twitch. "Questions later. Run now."

Steinhardt barricaded the door behind them as Emily slipped the cuffs from Samuel's wrists. She angrily turned back to the other doctor. "You have two minutes to start explaining yourself before I call this in!" She threatened.

"Two minutes." He said. "Not much time to work with."

"Enough if you know what you have to do. If you don't talk fast, you'll have even less to work with."

Steinhardt shrugged. "Sounds fair." He took hold of the sleeve of her coat and pulled her out of earshot of Samuel, who was still rubbing his wrists.

"Now don't talk and don't make a sound. Just blow this joint."

"What? Why?"

"You're not going to believe me."

"Just. Tell. Me."

"Fine." He shrugged, looking frustrated. "Fine. Brutal truth? Your little friend Sammy is possessed."

"Uh huh." Emily said, unconvinced. "Do you see Jesus? Does he tell you to do things?" Clearly all the lunatics weren't behind bars.

"I'm serious, lady! Listen, I suppose Osborne and Lyons tried to tear you apart 'cause they'd had a hard day, huh?"

"Well-" Emily stepped back. "Samuel, I think we should go."

"Don't-"

"Emily is right. I should go." And he turned to them. His eyes shimmered a pale, cold blue.

"Oh, my God." Emily gasped.

"Not quite." Samuel said. "Actually, pretty far from it." Steinhardt swung up the gun, but with a glance from Samuel, it flew out of his hands and sailed down the corridor. "I should have known." He said. "I should have known wherever this body went, _you _wouldn't be that far behind."

Steinhardt coughed, his face turning red. Emily glanced at him as he raised his hands to his throat, horror on his face. He sank to his knees.

"You're killing him!" She shouted, kneeling by Robbie's side.

"That's the general idea, pet." Samuel said. "I had hoped it would not come down to this. I was really starting to like you, Emily, and so was Sam."

"If you like me, stop what you're doing! He can't die like this!"

Samuel's face twisted. "You don't understand." He said urgently. "They'll find me. That's all they'll do. They'll find me and tear me apart."

"Who? Who will find you?"

"I-" He was wavering, and Steinhardt began to breathe a little easier. _Keep him talking. _"No!" He shouted. "I'm not going to die because of you!"

"Is that so?"

Sam spun as the water arched through the air. He gave a shout of shocked outrage as it hit his flesh and began to steam.

"_Christo, _you mother." The woman shouted.

Suddenly Steinhardt could breathe again. As he gulped in buckets of air, Emily just stared as Samuel and Captain Wandell began to circle each other.

"You should have stayed away, hunter." Samuel said.

"Yeah, well. Felt like I was missing out on a party."

Samuel lunged for Captain Wandell. At that moment, Doctor Steinhardt, who seemed to be running on adrenaline, sprung to his feet. Seizing one of the plastic folding chairs, he swung it over his head and smashed it into the back of Samuel's skull.

"I can't believe you just-" Emily was horrified.

"No time right now." Sam's arm jerked on the floor. "He'll be up and about in no time. Come on. You too, Kamikaze Barbie." He hustled them out the door.

"What now, genius?" The captain shouted. "What the HELL do we do?"

"I have a… well, I have sort of a plan!"

"Fantastic! Mr Wizard has a plan!"

"Ease up, GI Jane. I'm doing the best I can!"

Steinhardt lead them through the darkened corridors. Emily recognised with a shudder of revulsion the age-old instruments, out on display in their cases. He was leading them into the old wing, the area that had been converted into a museum to glorify the days when the treatment was as ineffective as it was brutal.

Steinhardt spun on the heel of his boot. It was only then that Emily noticed that he was wearing hiking boots and jeans under his long white coat.

"Who are you?" She whispered. "Who are you both?"

"It's complicated." The pair of them said at the same time.

The door blew back off its hinges. "You couldn't have just left well enough alone, could you?" Samuel, the thing in Samuel said. "They'll kill me. They've found me only because you _interfered_."

"No." Emily backed away, behind Captain Wandell and Doctor Steinhardt. Steinhardt flung out an arm to make sure she was backed into the shadows. "Samuel, please."

He stepped forward. "Emily." He said. "I'm sorry. I really am." Then he stopped. Looked up to the darkened ceiling. Scowled. "You insignificant, pathetic little man. You think you can hold me in something as meagre as the Key? I'll not be caught out twice."

Steinhardt shrugged, looking sheepish. "Worth a try." He mumbled. "But-"

"But what?"

"Have you looked down yet?"

There, scratched into the stone, was a circle, a circle that encompassed Samuel but excluded Doctor Steinhardt, Captain Wandell and Emily.

"No." Samuel breathed.

"Gee, old buddy. I'd say that's definitely caught twice."

* * *

Steinhardt and the captain tied Samuel to a nearby chair.

"Who are you?" Emily asked again. She had long passed denial, and was now in the phase of grim acceptance. "Tell me."

"Who I told you." The captain said. "Sally Wandell, captain. US Army."

"But this – what you do-"

"Big fan of _Buffy _and _Rambo._"

Steinhardt snorted. "And who are you?" Emily demanded. "Your name's not Robbie. Was there anything you told me that was actually true?"

"Not really." He confessed. "Not a doctor. Honestly, I never even sat my finishing exams."

"What's your name?"

"Dean." He said finally. "Dean Winchester."

"You're-"

"Yes."

"The-"

"Yeah."

"But­-"

"Yep." He ran his fingers through his hair. Glanced at Captain Wandell. "Gonna bring me in?"

"Demon in here. Two downstairs and however many more on the scent." She looked almost pained as she said it. "No."

"Thanks."

"Winchester?"

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow it's business as usual."

As the other two watched, she pulled a small notepad out of another pocket in her cargos. "Mind if I do the honours?"

"Be my guest."

Samuel had been quiet until this moment. Now he looked up, hate in his eyes. "You think this is finished? As soon as they see that I'm gone, they'll slaughter each person in this godforsaken place."

"Sorry, pal." Dean scowled. "If they really want you that badly, they'll chase you all the way back to Hell." He glanced at Wandell. Gave her the smallest nod of the head. She began to read.

"_Deus, et Pater Domini nostri Jesu Christi, invoco nomen sanctum tuum, et clementiam tuam supplex exposco_-"

It was an exorcism. Not a fake-puke, head spinning 360 kind action, but a proper, honest-to-God exorcism. Emily didn't know what to do beside get out of the way and let Wandell and Winchester let loose with their mojo. And she decided that she had some major issues to work through.

Samuel was beginning to flinch, as though he was being pricked with hundreds of invisible pins.

"You could get out of him now." Dean said as his brother gritted his teeth. "Save us all the trouble. We all go home early."

"_Per eumdem Dominium. Amen-_"

"You don't understand." His knuckles were white as he gripped the arms of the chair. "No idea."

"Oh, I have more of an idea than you think."

"_Exorcizo te, immundissime spiritus, omni incursio adversarii-_"

He was beginning to shake. "You know nothing."

"Really? I know your little demon buddies aren't that happy with you right now-"

_"Exi ergo, transgressor. Exi, seductor, plene omni-"_

"'Cause you go ahead and find a doorway outta Hell and you don't tell any of 'em. You up and get a one-way ticket out of Dodge. You were never trapped in Glamis Castle at all. You were using the nexus of supernatural power generated by the ghosts as cover."

"Not bad." The demon Dantalion hissed. "Did you figure that out yourself or did someone have to tell you? I can help you. I can tell you things no one else knows. Show you places no one else sees. Just let me stay here. In this body."

"No chance."

_"Reus es Filio ejus Jesu Christo Domino nostro-"_

"Why here, then?" The demon said. "Let me tell you. All these humans. All these messed-up psyches. It was the perfect cover."

"And you would have gotten away with it too if it wasn't for us meddling kids."

"Laugh, but it scares you. How long before you end up like one of these people? How long before there's no meaning to anything anymore? How long before you're _empty_? They're still waiting, you know."

Dean didn't have any retort for that.

"_-et crucifigere praesumpsisti-"_

"They'll keep you alive just to hear you scream." The eyes were shining with pain. "Piece of advice, Deano. You don't have to sell your soul to end up in Hell. Show 'em all and live."

"What are you talking about?"

_"Deus, per omina saecula saeculorium. Amen!"_

Grinning widely, he threw back his head. The cloud erupted out of Sam's limp body. It billowed around him for a moment or two before rolling up on itself and vanishing.

All was silent for a long moment.

"I wonder how many people heard that?" Emily asked shakily.

"Enough." The captain said. She nodded her head at the groaning Sam. "Get him out of here."

Dean just looked at her.

"Move it, while I'm still in a good mood." She snapped.


	8. Underworld

"Stop whining, it doesn't look that bad."

The wind blew through their hair as they waiting in South London for the Scotsman Alistair Crow to pick them up. From where they where sitting, the brothers could peer right onto the front entrance of Bethlam Royal Hospital.

The asylum was thrown into a spin after news spread that one of their maximum-security patients had escaped. From what Dean had heard, it was the first time in living memory it had ever successfully happened. And although Doctor Steinhardt, the strange doctor that played seventies rock on his lunch break, or his part in it wouldn't be remembered, he still felt kind of proud for setting a record.

The London coppers were called in and the city was scoured from top to bottom. Dean also knew that out there somewhere would be Wandell and Hendrickson and whatever little informants were working for them. He still didn't know quite what to make of the good Captain; she seemed a pretty gutsy gal and he might have even grown to like her if it wasn't for the, you know, the whole hunt-and-kill aspect.

Sam had shaved and cut back his shaggy hair, but with his pointed chin and soulful eyes, he was still too obvious. His big brother realised that drastic measures would need to be taken.

So, amidst much complaining, he dyed Sam's hair blonde.

"Methinks thou dost protest too much."

His little brother just glared. "I hate you."

"I know. You remind me frequently." He took a bite from his sandwich. "It'll grow out in a few weeks. You're such a girl."

"_I'm _such a girl? What would you do if I messed with your conditioner?"

"You think to threaten me through the use of hair care products? I laugh at your puny attempt. I could have left your scrawny ass behind, drugged all the way to happy land, you know."

It was an empty comeback. There was an unspoken pact that had been made when they were still children. Neither brother would ever leave the other behind.

Through the years and the anguish, the pain and the mind-numbing, pant-wetting adventures, that bond was what kept them going. The knowledge that there was always going to be someone beside them to lean on when they needed to. The knowledge that if they slowed down and stopped, someone would prod them in the back and tell them to get a move on.

_Okay, uncomfortable chic flick moment over now._

"Hey, isn't that your Emily?"

"She isn't _my _Emily. She was the doctor that was treating me and who just happened to-"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Looks like she's leaving."

The two watched her load boxes into her car. Sam stood.

"Sammy, you may have gone for the bleached surfer-dude look, but if you poke your head out just for the hell of it, someone's bound to recognise you."

"She can't just leave her job because of me."

"Well, you _did_ vamoose when you were on her watch."

Sam pulled on his jacket. Walked down the cobbles toward her. "Dude! People get fired all the time!" Dean shouted out behind him. "It's no big deal, just another part of the great circle of life!"

Emily Killarney looked up as she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. A tall man was standing before her, blonde and slightly daggy. "Hi, Emily." He said, and she looked up into his eyes. Deep, haunted eyes.

"Oh. It's you again." She sounded so utterly unsurprised and unimpressed that it was almost unnerving. But her body language said something different. _Get away from me or I'll scream._

"They fired you."

"Does it matter?" She loaded another box into the car and slammed the trunk.

"But – but they can't do that."

"Actually, they can." She said. "You disappeared during my supervision. That itself is grounds for dismissal, let alone…" _Let alone what really happened… _"I didn't get fired."

"That's good, isn't it? Then why-?"

"I just couldn't... In four hours I saw something most people couldn't possibly imagine. You. And him. And that Captain Wandell. That was a… a demon. A real one, and I saw it. I'm a psyche doctor; can you guess how many people I treat that tell me that they see demons? "

They both were silent.

Sam heard Dean come up the path behind them. Doctor Killarney cast him a strange look, as if she was still having trouble processing the fact that over several weeks Dean had somehow built up an alter ego under her nose.

"I could stay. I should stay, since I have all my qualifications. But… but the next patient that tells me about the voices in their head…"

"You're going to wonder if they're telling the truth." Dean said gravely.

She looked at him dead-on. "Sometimes it's better not knowing."

"Sometimes it is." He challenged.

"No. These people, these people you see all around you everyday, the ones that ignore you as you walk past, the only way they make it through the day is by carefully not knowing what's in the darkness, what's outside, what lives next door. Because if they really, _really _thought about it, none of them could handle it. The truth can set you free, but it can also eat you away from the inside."

"Tell me about it." Sam said softly.

"This is your world." Emily said. "Not mine. That sort of thing scars you for life, and for you to stand up and tell all those creatures _no _means you're a stronger person than I am. Than we are."

"I'm sorry."

She opened the driver's side door. Smiled wanly at Sam. "When I was twenty-five, I'd thought I'd seen it all. No matter how twisted it turned out to be, I'm glad I was proven wrong." She slammed the door. "Now hit the road before my traumatisation means nothing."

The brothers watched from a distance as Emily Killarney drove away.

"I guess she wasn't that bad." Dean said. "I mean, for a doctor and all."

"Yeah." Sam agreed. "Not bad at all."

"Yeah." Dean paused. "So."

"So."

"So… how was it like in the nut-house?"

"Actually," Sam pondered his answer, running his fingers through his newly platinum locks. "Actually, it was pretty relaxing. No physical exertion, no knife fights, no explosions. It was pretty tame. Apart from, you know, the badass demon and all. But it still felt like something was missing, though."

"No one tried to kill you?"

Sam nodded. "Pretty much, yeah."

"It's how you know we care." His brother said. "Also including the medically-approved drugs and three square meals a day."

"Yeah. And on the upside, if Hendrickson and Wandell do catch me, I have the records to plead insanity."

"Cool. Hey, what do you think of Captain Wonder Woman anyway?" Turning away, Dean kicked at a pebble and watched it bounce down the sidewalk. "I'm still having trouble digesting the fact that she let us go."

"Even after what I did to her father."

Dean rolled his eyes heavenward. "Oh, for crying out loud. The dude's dead. You were possessed. Bottom line is that it's _not your fault_. Um, strictly, _strictly_ speaking. We _do not _need anymore angst than we already have."

"Dean, I _killed _Steve Wandell. You saw it. Somehow she saw it too."

"So what? She waited long enough make a play for revenge, didn't she?"

"Dad waited twenty three years before he got revenge on the thing that killed Mom."

"Irrelevant." Dean waved his hand in a dismissive gesture at the two walked back down the road to the park. "Dad was hunting a _demon. _No offence, but Mustang Sally is only hunting _you_."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you should have seen her and Hendrickson together. Half the time she was flipping him off and the other half she was grooving to her own beat."

"So what?" Sam was starting to get annoyed now.

"Little Miss Commando, with all new Holy water blasters? Treating a demonic onslaught like another day at the office? And I don't suppose you noticed the Colt neatly tucked into her trousers?"

"Dude, you really checked her out."

"Sure, I checked her out before. When I found out who she really was I checked her out even more. You would not _believe _the mojo she carries with her. I don't know why Hendrickson hasn't got suspicious yet."

"Maybe she hasn't told him." Sam said. Then- "Wait. You _broke into her room_?"

"Relax. I didn't leave anything behind."

"If she's as prepared as you're implying, you didn't need to! What amazes me is why she didn't report that you were here too!"

"Indeed. Makes you wonder, yes?"

And indeed, it did make Sam wonder. "Oh, God."

"This isn't as cut-and-dried as we thought. She's up to something. We gotta find out what." Dean rubbed his chin, his eyes thoughtful. Sam read him at once.

"Oh, no. No. You are _not _going to the FBI."

"I'm not going to march up the steps and give myself up. Undercover. Deep undercover."

"Dude, a real undercover op is not about getting dressed up for half an hour to fool some dumb girl behind the counter. It's weeks, maybe months or years, to build up a repertoire and a reputation. To know completely how everything runs. And if your mask slips even _once, _they'll crucify you alive."

"Sounds exciting." Dean said.

"Dean-" Sam sighed. There was no point to trying to talk him out of anything once the idea was in his head. _Maybe if I leave it alone, he'll forget about it._

"Hey, Sam?"

"What now?"

"We'll be home for Christmas."

* * *

"_I see what's happening."_

"You're in Queens. There's no possible way you could see what's happening."

"_Ah, so droll." _Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. _"And with one foul swoop, the Winchester boys have claimed yet another casualty, with their big, wide, innocent eyes and boyish charm."_

"I was outnumbered. Three demons, possibly more. And I like living, so there was no contest."

"_You still let them go. Even after the exorcism. What I don't get is why. I know you. I know the people you're after don't just disappear. You're looking at them right now, aren't you, you sly dog?" _

Sally Wandell ignored the uncannily accurate observation from someone halfway around the world. She looked away from the park, away from the two tall men waiting for their ride to arrive.

"If I'd have made a move while Sam Winchester was down, I'd be no better than he was. And there's no way I can go for them now without any cover, and too many witnesses about."

"_Ah, a moral dilemma."_

"I'm surprised you even know what that means."

The throaty laugh was tinny over the mobile's receiver. _"And of course you're the saint that could do no wrong. How dirty are your hands, Sal? How many have met their end through you? No wonder so many of your kind prefer the darkness, creeping among the shadows."_

Sally smiled patiently. "I wouldn't be so rude, if I were you. Especially when this is a business call."

"_So Miss Morality has finally sunk down to my level. Congratulations and welcome to the sisterhood. What do you want? The Seal of Solomon? A page of the __Voynich Manuscript__?"_

"Nothing as mundane. I want to hire you."

There was stunned silence on the end of the line for several seconds. Then the other woman was back, her usual haughty, unruffled self. "_Is the line clean?"_ She demanded crisply.

"Don't you think I'd know by now if I'd been tapped? The FBI has only managed to isolate the home number, and that was a while back. Good old Dad and his satellite bouncing. There's no point doing anything about it."

"_Let 'em think they've got one over you." _She agreed. _"Alright, grasshopper, you should know I charge by the day. Plus expenses and danger money for any unforseen additional risks I may be forced to take. Oh, and I'm a thief. Not a murderer. If you expect me to do your dirty work, I'll come back and snap your neck."_

Sally decided not to point out the flaws in that statement. "Duly noted and dealt with. Figure out where and what account you want the cash to go to." She watched as the Winchesters rose and walked across the street to a dark green vehicle that had crawled into a park in front of the butcher's.

_Something big is going down. And you two are at the centre of it._

"_Animal, vegetable, or mineral?"_

"His name is Henry Colt." She said.

"_Sorry, darl. I don't do people."_

"Is that because you're afraid of getting your butt kicked?" Sally asked coolly. "Let's see, I'll throw in an extra fifty grand. On top."

"_Is Monday early enough for you?" _She asked. Sally knew she had fallen for the lure of the incentive._ "And just so you don't start thinking you've got preferential treatment, you better remember that this isn't the first job I've run for a hunter before. I know how you guys operate. And if you try to weasel out, I'll track you down."_

Bela laughed again before hanging up.

'_**Stand my ground, I won't give in  
No more denying, I've got to face it  
Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside  
If I don't make it, someone else will  
Stand my ground'** _

* * *

**AN: **

I don't own Supernatural or anything associated. Alistair Crow, Emily Killarney and Sally Wandell are my creations.

The lyrics of _Stand my Ground _belong to Within Temptation and anyone associated.

**Kelley Armstrong** was the author that linked the demon Dantalion to being trapped in Glamis Castle in her book _Haunted_.

In the Ars Goetia, part of the Lesser Key of Solomon, **Dantalion **(the demon that possesses Sam) is referred to as the 71st of the 72 demons Solomon summoned and imprisoned. '_His office is to teach all Arts and Sciences unto any'_, and in other texts, he often hasn't been included.

The **Monster of Glamis** was supposedly the malformed first son of an Earl. There are many versions, including how he was supposed to have lived for hundreds of years and have inhuman strength, and one story where he was bricked up in the walls.

The **ghost** Dean met was Earl Beardie, who challenged the Devil to a game of dice on the Sabbath and lost his soul. They say you can hear the rolling of dice and the sound of someone swearing. In an alternate version it was a game of cards.

The **ghost** Sam met is yet to be identified. She wanders the Castle crying, pulling at her scarred face. She's often seen at one of the highest towers.

The two things that Bela mentioned:

The **Seal of Solomon **was the amulet used to bind the demons Solomon summoned so they could not leave his service.

The **Voynich Manuscript** is yet to be deciphered, but is believed to be a 15th century Grimorie.


End file.
